


Labor of Love

by stuffbyshelbyfics



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: A Better World (Gravity Falls), M/M, fiddleford tries to be a good uncle and is sort of ok at it i guess, love me some morally ambiguous fidds, memory erasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 09:39:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15167885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuffbyshelbyfics/pseuds/stuffbyshelbyfics
Summary: Fiddleford takes care of a little hitch in his plans for the Institute of Oddology.Twolittle hitches, to be precise.





	Labor of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Inkblot9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkblot9/gifts).



A brief rectangle of dim light revealed Dipper and Mabel, fast asleep in their beds. Fiddleford painstakingly eased the door shut behind him, exhaling quietly as the kids remained thankfully still and silent. The memory gun in his inner pocket bumped awkwardly against the side of his chest, but the fabric of his coat masked the sound. He stepped around the debris of their temporary bedroom and stopped first at Dipper’s bed, pulling out the gun as he sat on a nearby chair, lost in thought.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love them, he reminded himself. He did, with all his heart. It was that they’d been starting to make things… _difficult_ for him and Stanford. Especially for Stanford. Through no fault of their own, of course; they didn’t know any better. And after tonight, they’d never have to.

It had been thirty-odd years since Ford and his twin brother had separated. He never liked to talk about it, and it was only by utilizing his lover’s trust in him and his entrancing technological talent that Fiddleford was able to coax the whole story out of him. The way he saw it, the Institute didn’t need someone who would only cause Ford more distress and heartache. Stanley Pines, by the knowledge of those who had thought they’d known him, was awash somewhere in the Cayman Islands, and Fiddleford would see to it that he’d stay that way.

As soon as they’d heard tell of Ford’s lost brother, Dipper and Mabel’s curiosity had been insatiable. They’d peppered their great-uncle with probing questions, urging him to seek Stan out and make amends. Which by itself seemed like a good idea, Fiddleford acknowledged as he fidgeted with the dial of the gun, but in reality it would only cause more trouble.

Trouble, he mused. There would be plenty of that if Stanford caught wind of his plans for tonight, which was why he was at this moment laying in their shared bedroom, hypnotized to the gills, blissfully empty-headed and without a care in the world. He’d gone through lots of worried planning before even approaching the kids’ room; among other things, the security cameras throughout this hallway and the hallways adjacent to it had all been hacked from an untraceable source to show to any watching officers that all was well, and he’d made sure to spend enough time with Ford in their room to ensure that any night watchmen on their rounds would have moved on to another part of the building for the time being. The only thing he hadn’t prepared beforehand was what exactly he was going to input into the gun that Dipper and Mabel would forget. He pondered that now as he sat in the dark room, watching the sleeping children with unseeing eyes.

Should he try for something subtle, something that would just dissuade the kids from trying to win Ford over? Or should he go the whole hog and erase their few memories of Stanley Pines completely? Fiddleford scratched at his receding hairline and jiggled his leg nervously, his heart almost stopping when Mabel stirred and mumbled in her sleep. Action should probably be taken soon; morning would be here in a few hours. He combed his brain for ideas, searching for suitable words. The subtle route would have to be a more specific input, but at least he had experience with that sort of thing; it had taken more than just good arguments to convince Ford to go along with some of his plans for the Institute. Yes, specificity would be better for this particular situation. If Ford happened to ask them about Stan later, it would misdirect suspicion towards him and his memory gun. He stood up decisively, typing “Persuading Ford to find Stan” into the dark screen as he did. The words glowed green on the black interface, shining off of his round glasses as he bent over Dipper’s mattress and held the bulb of the gun to his forehead.

A bright blue flash and a faint electric crackle was all it took, and the young boy, after convulsing briefly, remained peacefully still under the sheets. He took out the used memory canister and put in a new one as he stepped carefully to the other side of the room, and did the same to Mabel. Fiddleford sighed with relief and began to make his way to the door, keeping his gaze on the tranquil tableau - and toppled backwards, arms flailing in desperation as his slim frame crashed on the rug.

He held his breath, his heart pounding in his ears, but the kids remained motionless. Of course, his mind babbled, subjects of the memory gun tended to be drowsy and lethargic after its use, and they were already asleep, after all. He’d had to drag Stanford to bed after some evenings when he’d go to society meetings without him knowing - gosh, the Society of the Blind Eye seemed like it had been an eternity ago, he thought - his lover’s body gone limp and uninhibited in his skinny arms. He strained his vision in the dark room and saw that he’d slipped on Dipper’s gray-green hat, and made a mental note to remind the kids to keep their room a little tidier in the morning as he stood up, grasping for the doorknob.

The pale lights of the Institute’s hallways made his eyes smart, and he allowed himself a moment of exhaustion and leaned against the closed door before striding back in the direction of his and Ford’s bedroom. The warm, familiar darkness was very welcome to his weary senses, and he sagged on the mattress springs next to Ford’s sleeping figure. Everything would be better in the morning, he told himself, and took his companion’s body in his arms.


End file.
